Light As The Breeze
by AHumblePen
Summary: GambitRogue


Satin slipped over his skin, riding on the crest of every wave of consciousness like a shipwrecked man clinging to the last remaining piece of driftwood. He could feel it, in those moments when his eyes would almost open, wandering over his shoulders, down his back, along arms that had been wrenched backwards and secured there with handcuffs, around the circumference of ankles that were likewise bound to the chair he sat in. The contact over the planes of his body was a counterpoint to the cool darkness of unconsciousness, a heat drawn in a thin, sharp line over his flesh. Like a moth to a flame, he rose towards the touch, gradually becoming aware of the husky-honey voice that called to him in a low whisper just over the threshold of hearing. "Remy. C'mon, sugah, wake up. Wake up f'me."

Opening his eyes was a challenge, made harder by the way his skin flared hot in the cool air, the way his body responded to the smooth-fabricked caresses that lead over his chest, his knees. When he finally managed to roll his eyelids upwards, it took him a moment to adjust to the poor lighting in the room. The groan that passed his lips when his eyesight snapped into focus was as much soft confusion as warm wanting.

The entire room was draped in crimson fabric; silks and satins, heavy sheening sheets and sheer gauzy drapes highlighted by the flicker of too many white candles to count. Just before him, crouched in the space between the chair he was bound to and a large canopy bed, was Rogue, but Rogue as he'd never seen her before. Her hair had clearly been brushed carefully, and the white stripe framed her face artfully, threatening to slip forward and obscure her features. She was wearing much less than he was accustomed to seeing her in--only a black negligee that barely reached to her mid-thighs and accented its edges in deep cream lace, and a pair of matching opera length gloves. It was those gloves that played over his body, chased the sound of Rogue's name across his lips with a smoothed thumb. She looked impossibly pleased with herself.

It took him a few moments to find his voice, and once it was found, in use it was a bit higher, a bit less steady than Remy would entirely like. "Roguey?" He asked again, tugging at the handcuffs that held his arms behind him, eyebrows beginning to furrow together. "Why de ha--"

A single finger lay across his lips, urging him to be quiet. Rogue matched crimson eyes with emerald ones, and in her gaze Gambit could see a laughing fire that was unfamiliar to him. "Shush, Cajun, don't' ruin th'moment. An' if you even _think_ 'bout takin' those cuffs off, Ah swear, Ah'm putting on a parkah an' never tryin' this 'gain."

If there were two things Remy hated, it was being out of control and out of the know. But, if there was one thing Remy wanted, it was whatever it was Rogue was doing to him, with those satin-sheathed fingers and the unaccountable light in her eyes. The Cajun satisfied himself for a whisper of voice that was closer to a groan than anything else, eyes threatening to shutter closed before he forced them open again. "What're you gon' do t'me?"

Here, Rogue laughed, a deep and sultry sound that whispered through his hair and chased its way down his spine in a hot shiver. "Ah'm gonna do just 'bout anythin' I wanna do t'you, Gumbo. You gonna complain, with me all trussed up like this? Make a girl feel real unappreciated." Balanced easily on the balls of her feet, the Mississippian reached up with one hand to ghost it over the set of his eyes, over the lines of his cheekbones as if memorizing the form of his face for posterity. "Anybody ever tell you you're a pretty man, Remy LeBeau?"

Her fingers skimmed over his voicebox as he spoke, feeling the hum of his words through the gloves. He spoke quietly, his voice dropped lower and more husky for the desire that Rogue's touch was beginning to spike through him. "From time t'time." Remy managed, and found himself wetting his lips only seconds later.

"From time t'time." Rogue repeated, amused, and her fingers drew from his neck to his shoulders, the second hand coming up to cup his neck, the motions mirrored as she explored the line of his collarbones and the way his shoulders strained to keep his hands within the cool metal of the cuffs. "Well," She pulled the word out into several syllables, mimicking the sound with the drag of satin fingertips over his chest and sides. "Ah'm tellin' you now. You're a pretty man."

"'S dat," Remy gasped only a few words into the sentence, swallowing hard before he had the fortitude to continue onward. "'S dat so?" His eyes refused to open all the way, now; instead, they watched Rogue from an almost sleepy half-lidded expression, his mouth just barely parted to allow him to breathe. Every slide of fabric across his skin was ice-fire, the paths burnt into his memory by need alone. Gambit didn't know how much more of this he could take before he simply incinerated himself.

Slowly, tauntingly, Rogue's fingers ran over the accordion of his stomach, carefully outlining the pattern of his muscles beneath his skin. Those muscles shivered, against the Southerner's touch, a fluttering that curled a slow, sly smile to her face. There was a certain amount of deliberate motion in the way one hand slid around to brace against his hip while the other drug itself between his legs, traveled smoothly along the length of his arousal to swirl, briefly, against the tip. It was, however, when with the same deliberateness Rogue wrapped her fingers around him, gave the barest of tugs, that Remy's voice jumped from his throat in a light and high-pitched groan.

"Ah see y'like that," Rogue purred factiously, her fingers tapping a brief tattoo against the hot flesh beneath them. "See you like that a lot. But what's this?" A fingertip spiraled its way from his very base to tip again, dragging his voice with it, and then smeared through the moisture beading along him. "You keep this up, an' you're gon' ruin mah nice new gloves."

Remy opened his mouth, to protest that in his state he could hardly be expected to react any differently, but he was forestalled by a burst of motion from Rogue. She rolled to her feet easily, teeth flashing in the dim light as she brought the tip of her finger to her mouth and latched onto the glove. Confusion and astonishment threaded through the Cajun's undeniable desire as she pulled both gloves free in that slow, taunting fashion, eyes half-hooded as they locked to his. When the gloves were removed, she tossed them to the bed, dusting invisible dirt from her hands. "Well, takes care of that problem, don't it?"

"What?" The Cajun asked, his voice horse and shaking, as he watched the play of her bare skin under the crimson-flavored light. "Rogue, what…what're you doin'?" His eyes widened as she took as step closer, and instinctively his toes shuffled against the floor, trying to push the chair away. He couldn't get enough of a hold to do much of anything, with his ankles bound the way there were.

She took another step forward, her motions easy and deliberate beneath the satin of her chemise, and looking up at her sharp eyes, Remy could see a sudden sense of hesitancy, anticipation and almost fear. "Y'see," Rogue started, one hand lifting towards his face with all the slow pacing of choreography, "Ah been practicin' some things." Her fingertips just barely grazed across his cheekbone, from the fore of his face through his hair.

Remy took the sharp and surprised breath in, eyes squeezed closed in preparation, before he realized that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes hesitantly, distrusting of the message his own skin was sending him, only to find the story corroborated. She was drawing the fingers back over his cheek to push at the hair that fell forward over his forehead, now, but the result was the same. Rogue was touching him, skin to skin, and her power wasn't kicking in. Gambit couldn't help the astonished gaze he fixed on her, eyes searching for an explanation.

Rogue wasn't giving one; at least, not right away. She took another step forward, and carefully brought her second hand up to cup his face between her palms. The smile she wore nearly split her face as she stepped carefully, easing herself to set just on his knees. Remy couldn't tell how much of her weight he was supporting, or how much she was levitating herself. He could tell, however, the smooth difference between the satin of her outfit and the skin of her legs, and it made him whimper softly. "Look Remy," Rogue's voice purred delightedly amazed over the space between them. "No gloves."


End file.
